To writing, to loneliness, to boredom, to stillness....

'You  still have that spark in your eyes...'. Six years later he takes a look at me and comments. I smile. Is it a wry smile? What's a wry smile, really?  And why do I smile?

'Why don't you write more often', he tells me umpteenth time. I try to smile, a  wry smile? I am not really the J.K Rowling you dreamt your daughter to become.

You could be earning by selling your writings. Only if I wrote too well or too often.

I do not know what to write? But I miss writing... I miss writing mails, poetries, love stories... I miss being that crazy me who used to write...

whats my excuse...no one writes back to me...:(

I have lost my pals...wherez Annie? wherez Mr. Madly in Love with? Wherez 4842? wherez the gang??

why am i cribbing at  this hour...my daughter has crippled the space bar...is writing going to be fun now??:D

let me go sleep...why are you so curt...or so concise...where is the detailing...

tomorrow...:)

and i procrastinate..